hanging upside down from the rafters

#fridayflash – Firefighting

I never understood why Chloe wanted to join the Girl Guides. She came home every Tuesday evening looking miserable, and she never went on any of the outings or brought friends home. She did, however, enjoy earning the badges. The first one she got was for needlework. I’ve always insisted she mended her own clothes, so she’s very neat and quick with a needle and thread. She put that skill to good use over the next year, sewing badge after badge onto her blue uniform. For cookery, she planned and catered a dinner party, and invited the Lord Mayor to join the Guide leader and the rest of her patrol. He came, as well, with his chain round his neck. She didn’t invite me. I wouldn’t have been able to go anyway, I had a flower-arranging class.

When she’d just turned twelve, the local fire brigade offered to help the girls get their firefighting badges. I’ve never seen her so excited. She said it was the last one she needed for some sort of award. She read all the books about fire that she could find, and wrote long lists of questions for the firemen who came every week to give talks and demonstrations. If her dad had been alive he would have encouraged her, but I’ve never really known how to deal with her odd behaviour.

One Tuesday I saw her going out after tea wearing jeans and t-shirt. I asked why she wasn’t wearing her uniform.

‘We’re going to the fire station today for the final test. I told you about it last week,’ she said.

Later that evening, as I was making my cocoa, I realised she should have been home at least an hour earlier. I initially assumed the tests had taken longer than expected, but by the time I put my empty mug on the draining board I was beginning to get annoyed with her. I didn’t mind her staying out, I generally let her please herself, but she should have let me know.

As if she’d heard my thoughts, the phone rang. It wasn’t Chloe’s voice at the other end of the line though.

For a split second my irritation intensified, then I’m not quite sure what happened. I heard the nurse say, ‘Mrs Hunter? Are you still there?’ as I put the phone down and went into the kitchen to wash up. I’d only just filled the bowl and pulled on my rubber gloves when the phone rang again, so I ignored it. I didn’t want to waste the hot water.

I’d nearly finished drying the pots when there was a loud hammering at the front door. I put the last plate away and went into the hall, unsure whether to answer the door at that time of night. I could see the end of a fingertip holding the letterbox open.

‘Mrs Hunter, are you all right?’ The voice was male, and too loud. ‘I’m PC Ledger. The hospital called the station and asked us to check up on you. Said you’d just had some bad news?’

What was wrong with me? I had a policeman kneeling at the front door, and Chloe was in hospital. And I’d just finished the washing up.

I opened the door. PC Ledger appeared to be about three years older than Chloe. He rose to his feet. ‘I’ve got a car out front, would you like me to take you up to the hospital?’

There are times in one’s life when one has to suffer indignities for the sake of one’s child. Climbing into a police car in full view of several pairs of eyes peeking from neighbouring windows was certainly one of those times. Thankfully the constable didn’t switch on the sirens or lights, or screech his tyres as we left.

He did drive very quickly though. It only took five minutes to get there. I apologised for troubling him as I got out of the car. He awkwardly reached out and touched my arm, and said, ‘I’m sure your daughter will be OK, Mrs Hunter.’ How did he know?

A porter pointed me in the direction of the Children’s Ward, and I was met at the double doors by a brisk woman who introduced herself as Nurse Beckett.

‘Chloe’s sleeping now. She’s had a nasty scare, but she’s going to be OK. We’re just keeping her in for observation.’

‘What happened? Is she badly hurt?’

‘Oh no, she just got very cold and shaken up, a few bruises, nothing worse than that. We had to warm her up a bit, that’s why we want to keep an eye on her.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Couldn’t the woman get to the point?

‘I’m sorry, I thought you’d been told…’

‘Of course I haven’t, who would have told me?’

‘I’m sorry…’

‘Just tell me what happened, for pity’s sake.’

‘According to the Guide leader, some of the other girls dared her to climb on top of a fire engine, and then one of them nipped to the phone box and reported a huge fire. Chloe managed to wedge herself in and hang onto the ladder, but she was still thrown around, and the wind froze her stiff, the poor mite.’

I started walking down the ward. Nurse Beckett darted alongside me, tiptoeing like a nervous burglar. I couldn’t see Chloe, until the nurse took my elbow and steered me towards a bed I’d overlooked on first glance. Her tiny pale face, as white as the pillowcase it was resting on, was that of a girl half her age. At the same time, it was the face of her father lying motionless on the pier at Southend.

‘Tell her I’ll bring some clothes in the morning. No point staying if she’s asleep.’

What a bizarre woman. I agree with Laura, this woman has some real issues, and poor Chloe reminds her too much of the dead husband. How sad that she can’t feel any emotions for her own daughter at this terrible time.

Oh, this mother takes my breath away. She un-understandable. And yet … and yet there’s that hint of embarrassing familiarity. We’ve all done this, turned away from things simply because we didn’t want to or couldn’t handle them. You’ve done something here that would be hard for me to write. You’ve created a character that is at once repulsive and intriguing. A character that makes me want to turn away from (just as she does) and yet feels so familer she has a bit of myself in her.

This is a terrific piece – I haven’t read your other Chloe pieces yet – I will now, this has piqued my interest! My only thought for you is with respect to POV. Because it’s first person, I felt like begging the mother to tell me what she was thinking. Since she’s really not totally spilling the beans, I almost feel like 3rd person from the mother’s pov might be better – it would allow you to convey the mother’s thoughts that we know about while still leaving the others a mystery, but as readers we’re more in the position of observing the action and trying to figure it out. Just an idea – something to consider. I like it a lot and am looking forward to reading more 🙂

Loved the control of the narrative here. I agree with Jeff about the way you manage to create a character that is both sympathetic and unsympathetic at the same time. Self-contained yet resonates with the previous Chloe piece. Powerful stuff.

Great, great, great. I’m not sure I agree with changing the POV. I understand the point but I don’t think we would get the same sense of anger and frustration if told 3rd person with the mother’s POV. I think her detachment to the events even as she recalls them is how she becomes so, as Jeff said, un-understandable. Just my opinion.

hmmm…I agree with Chris about the POV, though I don’t agree that the mom is un-understandable. I found her totally understandable. There’s a place where the psyche just shuts down, so that it doesn’t register any of the normal range of responses. (of course I haven’t read any of the other bits, so that might not be what this was about, but that’s how it read to me) It’s like a being that is on autopilot. On some level it gets that it can’t take any more loss, so it ceases to register loss, or even the potential for loss AS loss. It simple closes down its capacity to connect or empathize on any level, because any more loss would be fatal… The first person, absent any rationale for the cold behavior, perfectly communicates that state. So I say leave it exactly as it is, POV-wise, at least that would be my suggestion!

(now I must go read the rest of this series, so that I can place this gem within a context!)

Great story. I liked how at first it seemed the mother may have just been in shock by going back to the dishes. But then when she was picked up her thoughts were embarrassment at the neighbors seeing her get into a police car. She tries to be caring, but just the minimum required it seems. Very well written piece.

You know, I had a feeling about the mum from that last story, when they were walking on the pier…

“I was wearing my best shoes, they were brand new and if I looked closely I could see glimpses of Mum and Dad reflected in the red leather. One time I saw Dad grinning in one shoe and Mum frowning in the other.”

These are deep and complex characters, and you are reveling their souls like a master. Nicely done.

Ohhh…not so much cold, as shut down. The point of view worked for me. We didn’t get to hear the mother’s thoughts, possibly because she doesn’t hear them all that much.

Wonderful glimpse of introspection, “What was wrong with me?” but it doesn’t take hold. The next concern is the indignities one must suffer for one’s children.

This woman is wound tight – the intensifying irritation at the first phone call, the annoyance at the nurse who couldn’t reach the point, a suppressed annoyance at her dead husband’s ability to deal with Cloe’s “odd behaviour”.

What a magnifican character you’ve created – and been able to draw with such clean, confident strokes.

I think Mommy needs a bit of a rest 🙂 She seems to notice though, that she has entered some kind of dissociation – “then I’m not sure what happened” – but has she come out of it at the end? I’d have her followed, you know.